


It's Guessing Time

by makingitwork



Series: Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Caring John, Christmas time!, Happy Ending, He cares about John really, M/M, No Spoilers, Pre-Slash, Seasonal drabble, ThoughtfulSherlock, christmas drabble, underneath all that intelligence, unfortunately
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 17:13:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2740499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makingitwork/pseuds/makingitwork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John gets Sherlock a Christmas Present, and Sherlock feels obligated to return the gesture.</p><p>He hates Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Guessing Time

"I mean, it's so _utterly_ ridiculous! What's the point? What's the point of this entire holiday? We're celebrating the winter solstice- which was on December 21st, or is the birth of Jesus Christ? Which is a complete mistake, because he was born March 28th. And what's the point of all this gift giving? Completely ridiculous. Damn Germans. They're the reason you know, for all this..." he gestured with his left hand, to encompass everything "Hoodlum."

"Hoodlum?" John quirked an eyebrow, and Sherlock nodded

"Hoodlum. If Prince Albert hadn't come along from Germany, with all his ideas about green trees _inside_ the house, we'd have a perfectly normal day today." He sighed, running his hands through floppy, rich brown curls. He whirled around, tugging off his gloves, the door shut now, the fire crackling, warmer inside than the biting cold out there. "You understand, don't you, John?"

John said nothing, sipped his tea, and gestured to the mug on the table for Sherlock. "I take it the detective wasn't pleased with your impromptu visit to his house on Christmas day."

"No, if you can believe it." Sherlock grumbled "He said something about how spending time with his family is more important. Which is, of course, completely ridiculous, because he sees his family _everyday."_

"Of course."

Sherlock turned, frowning. He held his mug in his hands, and eyed Doctor John Watson, his flatmate for 6 months now, sitting there in a snug knitted jumper and jeans, laptop laid to rest beside him, thumb keeping the page of a book. He scrunched up his nose, looking around the apartment. Oh, still gloriously messy, as it had always been, only now, John's mess mingled with his. A few odd books, a few odd socks, well-worn mugs and shoes. The atrocious Christmas tree Mrs Hudson had dragged up here, al prettily decorated. Sherlock had ripped the twitching lights off it rather quickly, hurling them out the window, looking rather like Scrooge. He didn't like flickering lights. They distracted him. "What are you so happy about?"

John smiled, gesturing gently with his head to Sherlock's desk. Where there lay a neatly wrapped box, with a red ribbon. About the size of a box a mug would come in.

Sherlock sighed " _Oh John,"_ He murmured, exasperated "I've taught you nothing, have I?"

John chuckled quietly, "I don't suppose you'll open it?" Was that hope, tinging his friends voice?

"What's the point? I could easily deduce what it is." Sherlock grinned when John shot him a look as though to say 'go on then'. So he did. He turned his chair and looked directly at John. "When I came in, you looked at what I was wearing, making sure I didn't have whatever it was you've got me. You seem quietly confident, self-satisfied, so you must know that I like it, which means it must be something I already have. You've got me..." he pursed his lips "A scarf!"

John didn't react, and Sherlock groaned

"Am I right? I'm right, aren't I?"

John grinned again "You'll have to open it, won't you?"

Sherlock gritted his teeth, before bursting out of his seat, muttering "Bastard." But knowing it was all in good spirits as he head John laugh beside him. He grabbed the box, and ran back to his seat, a feeling of excitement fluttering within him. Goodness. Was this how it felt to receive a Christmas present? Pent up excitement for not knowing what it was you had received? Probably not. It probably just felt this way because it was something from _John._ After all, Sherlock knew it was a scarf. It had to be. He deduced it. He undid the ribbon with lavish movements "Wrapping it up is so pointless. I'm just going to rip it up anyway. Such a waste of paper. Think of the trees, John!"

John said nothing.

Oh this was getting annoying, that bastard was down right _smug._ So Sherlock tore off the wrapping, and opened the box.

It wasn't a scarf.

Rather, sat on black satin (Sherlock's favourite type of satin) was a gold pocket watch, chain folded softly beside it. It twinkled in the lighting, and it took Sherlock's breath away. It was beautiful. He ran a finger over the smooth metal, the front was lined with red inscription, marking out geometry and bearing resemblance to the face of a compass, and lifting it slowly out of the box, he felt an inscription on the back, and turned it over, in lavish letters read _SH._ In such fancy cursive that had Sherlock frowning. He'd seen that handwriting before- it was John's. John's best handwriting. John rarely wrote in cursive, but when he did, it was stunning. Sherlock pushed down on the emblem at the top, and the case opened, a clicking reached his ears, and the clock face was all in roman numerals, with a white second hand, and black hour and minute hands. The background was glass, so he could see all the mechanics, and little intricacies, and it was then he realised. This pocket watch was solid gold. The chain attached sturdily, and he knew it would fit beautifully into his jacket pocket. 

It was absolutely perfect. Solid gold, that meant money. John- John who was struggling for money- had bought his a solid gold pocket watch, and obviously gives a lot of thought to the way it should be made. Glass background, roman numerals, a compass cover, resting on his favourite satin! Letters inscribed into the back with his own handwriting- _god._ This was the best gift Sherlock had ever received. It was heavy with thought and promise, and the type of weight Sherlock wanted to carry around with him forever. It felt as though there were a piece of John's soul in here, and now, it was in Sherlock's hands.

"So..." John prompted, and Sherlock looked up "What do you think of your scarf?"

Sherlock's mouth was dry. "How much did this cost?"

John made a disapproving clucking noise with his tongue, eyebrows drawing together "Do you not like it? You can't return it I'm af-"

"Return it?" Sherlock's hand tightened "No! It's mine!" His arm curled possessively around the box, and John beamed. Sherlock felt a niggling inside him. "I didn't get you anything." He said softly, and John made a scoff of sarcasm.

"Really? After that giant speech you gave when you came in?" his hand covered his heart "I'm so surprised!"

Sherlock shot him a small smile "Yeah, but that was before..." he looked down at his pocket watch. "I should have...I can go-"

"Sherlock," John shook his head, laughing, kicked up his feet and opened his book, reading away, a pleased smile on his face. Sherlock watched him for a moment, before looking down at the watch, running a thumb over the pocket watch. He wasn't very materialistic, but _this._ He bit his bottom lip. This deserved recognition.

...

...

...

"Where have you been?" Sherlock asked, looking up from his position, lounging across the sofa in his suit. Dark purple waistcoat and clean pressed trousers, a gleam to his shoes, a pride in his appearance. The glint of the gold chain of his pocket watch, hanging over his pocket. John looks up, smiling

"Working."

"You work with me."

"True, but I picked up a little part time job." He hangs his coat up at the door, and Sherlock knows that this 'job' is to pay for the gold watch, but he doesn't say anything. "So, what did you need me for?"

"I need your laptop."

John laughs, but hands it over. It's not even password protected anymore. "I want to get you something for Christmas."

The Doctor chuckles "Christmas was last week, Sherlock."

"Unrelated." He declares, sitting up, the chain swishes, and John's eyes are drawn to it, and it makes him smile. Makes the late night worth it. "So, what would you like?"

"Oh." John rubs the back of his neck sheepishly "Uh, nothing really- I'm fine. Content."

Sherlock wants to point out that no one is content, but if anyone were going to be. It would be John. Oh that Doctor who fought in Afghanistan. Smart and brave. Loyal and patriotic. A good friend. "Anything your heart desires," Sherlock tries "I can get you literally anything you want. I've got strings waiting to be pulled."

"What are you? The Master Puppeteer?"

Sherlock laughs.

"Oh I don't know," he shrugs "Maybe..." he looks up and snaps his fingers "There. I've got it."

Sherlock leans forward, interested "What?"

"Oh come on, consulting detective," John laughs, heading for the kitchen for some late night tea "You've got to _work it out."_

...

...

...

Sherlock does work it out.

And he presents their business card the next day.

SHERLOCK HOLMES & DOCTOR WATSON.

CONSULTING DETECTIVES

DON'T CONTACT US. WE'LL FIND YOU.

Watson twirls the card between his fingers, nodding approvingly. "Merry Christmas, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock feels John's soul near his heart. "Merry Christmas indeed, Doctor Watson. Merry Christmas indeed."

**Author's Note:**

> Comment and I'll love you so much I'll scratch RACHE onto the floor.
> 
> x


End file.
